The seeds Dragon Girl had prepared for Han were nothing short of a treasure trove—carefully selected, easy to cultivate, and simple to propagate. Even among their tiers, they weren’t low-grade; they carried real value. The six Yin God-level seeds, rare finds in the outside world, were especially precious—capable of being grown on land, no less. Still, nurturing Yin God-grade herbs was no small feat, demanding precise conditions and an unforgiving environment.


    Dragon Girl didn’t expect Taibai Martial Hall to make use of them anytime soon. It’d likely be years before those seeds even touched soil. She’d chosen them as a long-term investment, a foundation for the hall’s future. Given how the Essence of Creation had boosted her bloodline, she didn’t care whether she sold or gifted the seeds to Han. To her—and to the Yun River Dragon Palace—they were pocket change. Centuries of accumulation, paired with the water tribe’s knack for unique talents, had left their reserves absurdly deep. When she’d taken the seeds from the palace, only Turtle Chancellor had batted an eye; the rest didn’t even ask.


    But seeing Han’s conflicted, stubborn expression piqued her curiosity. She stepped closer, her smile brimming with mischief.


    “What I want, I doubt you’d give me,” she teased. “Han, the higher your cultivation climbs, the stronger my bloodline stirs when I’m near you. What’s the deal with your lineage?”


    Like attracts like among dragon heirs, huh? Han thought. And she’s still itching to “devour” me!


    He pulled out a wilted gray herb and a golden fruit. “I don’t have much else to offer, so these two herbs will have to do for the trade. Heavenly Yin Fate-Fixing Grass and Celestial Spirit Gold Fruit—both Yin God-grade. Turtle Senior would know their worth.”


    He had more than one seed of each, after all.


    Dragon Girl raised an eyebrow, surprised. “You’ve got stuff like that?” Then it clicked. “Looks like you stumbled onto some master alchemist’s legacy.”


    No wonder he’d suddenly wanted to gather seeds and start Taibai’s own herb garden.


    Han shrugged modestly. “Just a little windfall.”


    “With moves that big, it feels like I’m the one coming out ahead here,” she laughed.


    “No way,” Han insisted, his tone earnest. “I owe you big time. Without that dragon scale you gave me, I wouldn’t be standing here talking to you right now.”


    He meant every word—gratitude ran deep. Only someone who’d faced that kind of danger could truly grasp how vital that scale had been. It’d saved his life. Compared to that, everything else was negotiable—he’d give her anything.


    Her expression sobered. “You were in danger? Heavenly Dragon Sect?”


    “Nah, it was…” Han explained the whole ordeal.


    “Guess that does make Heavenly Dragon Sect the least likely suspect,” she mused. “If you figure out who’s behind it and need a hand, just say the word.” She paused, eyeing the herbs. “But those two Yin God herbs are seriously rare…”


    She pulled out a jade vial and handed it over. “This is one of Turtle Chancellor’s specials—Black Tortoise Spirit Pills. Works wonders for Visceral Realm cultivation and grants a touch of Black Tortoise power.”


    “Black Tortoise power?!” Han’s eyes widened. That was a legendary force, rivaling dragons and phoenixes.


    She grinned. “Bit of an exaggeration—it’s more like Black Turtle power. Boosts your physical defense by about ten percent against same-realm fighters during the Visceral stage, plus a slight strength bump. Three pills in there—one per person. Extra doses don’t hurt, but they won’t help either.”


    She took the herbs; Han pocketed the pills.


    “Turtle Chancellor’s favorite hobbies—besides sleeping—are alchemy and herb-growing,” she said. “Those two should put him in a good mood. Oh, and one of the six Yin God seeds I gave you, the Black Tortoise Pearl? That’s his creation. It’s top-tier among its class. If Taibai can grow it to maturity, it’ll trade for a fortune—perfect substitute for the main ingredient in tons of lifespan-extending recipes.”


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    That nailed its value for Han. Power and longevity—eternal obsessions of all living beings. No need to wait; he’d ripen that pearl tonight.


    “Any word on the Mountain God?” he asked.


    “He’s teetering on the edge of Returning to Heaven and Earth—basically asleep,” she explained. “In that state, He can’t do much. The Mountain God’s favor will have to wait till He wakes up. And don’t even think about sneaking into Black Mountain while He’s out. It’s His divine domain—sleeping or not, its laws and principles still hold. Bone Refining Day Roamers can’t enter. He might bend the rules when awake, but asleep? It’s an ironclad no—unless you’ve got Mountain God blood.”


    “Got it… Any guess when He’ll wake?”


    “No clue. Even my dad can’t predict it.”


    Pain in the neck, Han grumbled inwardly.


    They strolled along the riverbank, and later she tugged him into the Yun River itself, showing off some dazzling sights. By the time Han returned, night had thickened.


    He deliberately swung by the martial hall, probing with his spirit—and froze, surprised. Grabbing the key, he slipped inside to the back courtyard. The air thrummed with sharp, rhythmic sounds.


    Under the moonlight, a figure in white moved with crisp, powerful grace, practicing martial forms with a striking, forceful beauty. Bai Ruoyue.


    Han waited quietly nearby. It was a while before she stopped, her eyes bright, cheeks flushed, sweat soaking her training gear. She’d clearly been at it for hours.


    “Senior Sister, it’s late,” Han said, stepping forward. He pulled out a Cleansing Talisman, brushing it over her. Instantly, she looked refreshed.


    “You’ve been training way longer during the day lately, and now you’re at it this late? Too much of a good thing can backfire.”


    Since the black-robed ambush, Han had noticed a shift in Bai Ruoyue. She talked less, trained more—way more. Low-to-mid-tier martial artists had a daily limit; push past it, and the gains tanked while the body took a beating. She’d always been diligent, but these past few days? She’d gone overboard. He hadn’t realized she was pulling all-nighters too.


    She flashed him a faint smile. “I know my limits. Don’t worry.”


    Looking at her, Han pieced it together and sighed inwardly. He grabbed her hand, plopping down on the steps.


    “Senior Sister, seriously, it’s fine. You did great that day. That was a Manifest Saint—Visceral Realm fighters can’t stand up to that. It’s normal. If I were just a Visceral martial artist too, you’d have stayed back to cover me, and I’d have bolted. No question.”


    She dipped her head slightly. “I’m the Senior Sister. I’m supposed to face the enemy with you, not let my little junior brother buy time while I’m helpless.”


    Han chuckled, half-exasperated. He hadn’t pegged her for someone so hung up on her “big sister” image. But how was that day her fault? The gap between Visceral and Manifest Saint was a chasm—way wider than Day Roaming to Manifest Saint. Whoever could hold out longer stayed; it was that simple. If she’d been stronger, she’d have stepped up without hesitation. Plus, she didn’t have tricks like his dragon scale up her sleeve.


    She knew about the scale, knew he had better odds against the black-robed figure. Still, as Taibai’s Senior Sister, being powerless in that crisis stung. She’d always been the protector, the pillar. But when it mattered most, she’d crumbled—and it ate at her. For all her usual swagger, she was just an eighteen-year-old girl.


    “Nobody’s invincible forever, Senior Sister,” Han said gently. “We all hit bumps on the road to growing up.”


    “Spouting life lessons again,” she muttered.


    He glanced down, sneaking a peek at her. “Senior Sister, are you about to cry?”


    “No way—you’re the crybaby!”


    “I bet you are. Been sniffling into your blankets every night lately, huh? Soaked them through, right?”


    She flushed, glaring. “Ugh, Han, you’re the worst!” She lunged, grabbing his neck and shoving him down, cheeks blazing as she pinned him. “You cry! You’re the one crying!”


    “Hit a nerve, huh? Go ahead and let it out—I won’t laugh.”


    “Keep talking!” She tightened her grip, her strength no joke. Han squirmed, but she doubled down, pressing her weight onto him. “Cry already! Stop running your mouth!”


    She landed two solid punches, then a few more for good measure. Han wasn’t about to take that lying down—he’d trained in secret arts, after all. With a sly grin, he tickled her ribs. She burst into laughter, twisting and wriggling.


    Moonlight spilled over them, framing Bai Ruoyue as she sat back, hair tousled, smile radiant—a breathtaking, heart-stopping beauty. Han froze, staring.


    She shot him a mock-fierce glare. “What’re you gawking at?”


    “Senior Sister.”


    “What?”


    “You’re stunning.”


    She blinked, stunned. After their scuffle, her already rosy face turned scarlet, practically glowing. “W-Why’d you say that?!”


    Han didn’t answer. His hands slid around her slender, toned waist. She stiffened instantly. With a gentle pull, he sat up, bringing them face-to-face, noses almost touching.


    Their breaths mingled, warm and quick. Bai Ruoyue’s eyes darted away, flustered. Han studied her—flawless, like something carved by the heavens. No hesitation. He leaned in.


    Her body stayed rigid, heart pounding faster the closer he got, like it might burst. Then their lips met.


    A jolt of pure bliss sparked through them, her faint scent filling his senses. Bai Ruoyue tensed, then melted completely, eyes fluttering shut. A breeze stirred, and they tipped back together, lost in the moment.


    The moon hung high, its silver light draping them like a gossamer veil.